Marking Time

 

The kinglets have come, 
ruby-throats are leaving,
and today I heard the sapsucker's
whine.

Gold plated pawpaws,
crimson painted sassafras,
and frost asters blanket the fields
in lace.

Red-tails circle above,
drab yellow-throats forage in the garden,
and days, like black walnut leaves, float gently
away.

Companioning

 When the day dawns dreary
and your strength falters,
may you be opened to the life around you,
the bees' gentle buzzing
and the hummingbird's zest.

When the night has been too long,
filled with sorrow or fear,
may the morning dew greet you
and the rising mists 
lift your spirit.

When your moments are lonely
and far too quiet,
may you be comforted by the insects' song
and the twittering of young birds, learning
their own voice.

When your eyes are weary from too much work
or too many tears,
may autumn's hues soothe you,
bronze mums on the doorstep,
September's first crimson leaves.

When all is not as you had dreamed
nor hoped,
may the companions outside your door
carry you tenderly as you find
your way.

Bounty

In offering this poem, I am aware that many parts of the country are not experiencing the bounty of the late summer season for reasons of flood and drought and fire. My heart is with you in lament.

 Blessed be the crickets and katydids
    whose voices are a choir.

Blessed be the cicadas,
    their song the sound of summer.

Blessed be the bluebird fledglings,
    making their way in the world. 

Blessed be the groundhogs,
    fattening on windfalls before winter's long sleep.

Blessed be the bumblebees
   slipping through the lips of turtlehead blossoms.

Blessed be the goldfinches
   gleaning seeds from coneflowers and Susans.

Blessed be the ruby-throats
    feeding and fighting on their way south.

Blessed be the mistflower
    offering nectar to swallowtails and skippers.

Blessed be the winterberry
    providing for hungry birds.

Blessed be this late summer stillness,
    slack tide between the seasons.

Blessed are we
    who open to the bounty that surrounds us.

        

        

August's Blessing

 

When you are lonely,
may the garden's community enfold you.

When you are hungry,
may you know the provision of the hedgerow.

When you are thirsty,
may the long-awaited rains fall upon you.

When you are weary,
may the cool breeze's kiss be upon your cheek.

When you are apathetic,
may you know the Carolina wren's unflagging curiosity.

When you are anxious,
may the placidity of the wood turtle sustain you.

When you doubt yourself,
may the ruby-throat's tenacity inspire you.

When you are in darkness,
may the night-song of the katydid keep you company.

When you are dry,
may the dews of early morning refresh you.

When you are restless,
may you know the sweet apple's slow ripening.

When you grieve,
may you be held in companionship with the wild ones.

When you cannot find your voice,
may the constancy of the cricket's cadence grow within you.

When you have forgotten who you are,
may the Presence within all of life
bring you home to your own true self.

Iona Prayer

 

O God of ageless sea and sky,
of mountain crags
and hidden bogs
where steps are treacherous,
accompany us
in swirling winds
and the skylark's song.

O God of dunes and shifting sands
of wandering cattle 
and grazing sheep
who roam the shoreline,
accompany us
in salty fog 
and the swallow's flight.

O God of Columba
and ancient faith 
of those who followed,
where high crosses beckon
accompany us
amid remains
of what once was here.

Bless us, O God of then and now,
of old and new.
When the gulf seems wide
accompany us
in longings for the Mystery
that is You.

June's Promise

 

Stepping out my door on a June morning,
the pots overflowing with snapdragons and petunias
welcome me,

and I look to the gardens beyond.

All this was worth it, I think.
All the work of the last four years,
digging, planting,
replanting, weeding,
moving plants around until they were happy.
All the physical and mental work
of making a garden was worth it.

Like the stream that meanders through a pasture,
I wander the garden paths,

catching the peony's scent 
and the breeze's whisper on my cheek.
Beardtongue sways with the bumblebees
and honey bees feed
in the comfrey and the catmint.
Beebalm stands at attention, a landing pad for fireflies
and the sweetspire and arrowwood are in bloom,
taking their turns in the garden's long offering
of provision.

Catbirds nest in the hazelnut,
chattering all the while.
House wrens chortle in the blackhaw
and titmice and Carolina wrens belt out
dueling variations on the same tune.
Barn and tree swallows twitter overhead
and ruby-throats zip from columbine to coral bells.
Green frogs glunk in the pond 
while baby bunnies sit still as statues in the grass.

I did not create this garden.
I set the plants in the ground
and they took it from there.
Plants are promiscuous beings, 
spreading their progeny where they will.
Creatures are the the recipients 
of this generous smorgasbord.
It was planted with them in mind.

Summer Guests

Barn swallows fly warily
into the old barn
wings fluttering,
voices twittering,
searching for a safe space
to place their nest.

A beam over the goat pen
will do.

Day by day
carrying mud and grass
they shape a perfect cup
to hold their young.

Tree swallows zip boldly
above the meadow
chattering,
hawking insects,
searching for a cavity
to build their nest.

The hanging gourd behind the barn
will do.

Day by day

carrying fine field grass
and feathers
they craft a downy bowl
to raise their young.

Swallows visit for such a short season.

While they are here
we share
each other's world.